Eavesdropping
by TheQueenofBooks1000
Summary: Listening to what other people are saying is morally wrong if it's none of your business. But if you happen to overhear a passionate soliloquy about someone's love for you, it technically IS your business, right? So it's not wrong if you continue to eavesdrop, especially since it can help you sort out your messy feelings for your bully. Right?
1. Chapter 1

**First chapter of this weird story I'm doing! I hope you guys enjoy...whatever the hell this is. It was written at exactly 2:53 AM. **

**Now I really need to sleep. I hope you guys like this stor—zzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzzz...**

**DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN HEY ARNOLD.**

* * *

For a minute, all he could see were stars.

He lay on the ground, blinking rapidly and trying to regain his bearings. The stars clouding his vision sparkled brightly for a while longer, and then they parted to reveal a blond-haired, blue-eyed angel—an angel with a unibrow and a scowl that could send burly convicts running for their mommies.

For a minute, she just gazed at him with her deep blue eyes. He couldn't help but notice that strands of her long blond hair escaped the confines of her pigtails and were currently cascading down the sides of her face, like a golden frame or something. Her scowl faltered by a fraction of a degree, and he raised his hand to brush the wayward strands away from her face.

_That _snapped her back to reality. She gasped a bit and backed away from him.

"Watch it, Football Head!" she spat, yanking him by his collar to get him to sit up. She shot him another glare and started collecting her fallen items from the moldy cafeteria floor.

For a minute, all he could do was look at her in confusion, wondering what the heck she was doing and why there was no heavenly choir present to commemorate the descent of such a magnificent creature.

He shook his head vigorously and offered her a smile. "Sorry, Helga," he said, a bit dreamily.

"Yeah, yeah. Help me out here, will ya?" was her annoyed response. "Criminy!"

Still grinning from ear to ear, he compiled all the homework papers and notebooks. His grin widened even more when he noted her loopy handwriting, in rich purple ink, praising the kindness of a certain 'boy with hair eternally touched by Midas.'

"Hey, give me that!" Helga growled, ripping the paper from his grasp. "Nice of you to help, Hair Boy," she said, her voice dripping with sarcasm, before storming off.

Gerald immediately rushed to his best friend's aid, helping him to his feet. "Hey, man. Sorry you got caught in the Hurricane Helga. You okay?"

Arnold flashed him a toothy smile. "Never better, Gerald. Uh, Iisten, I just gotta go and take care of something."

Gerald looked at him curiously before shrugging. "Okay, Arnold."

The two boys did their secret handshake and walked off to their separate ways. Gerald sat down and flashed Phoebe Heyerdahl his trademark 'lady-killer' smile. "Hey, Pheebs, what's up?"

The little dark-haired teenager giggled, and awarded his efforts with a shy smile. "Nothing much, Gerald. Want some of my tapioca pudding? I got the last."

The tall-haired boy raised his spoon. "Sure thing, baby," he responded with a wink, which brought about a fresh bout of giggles.

* * *

Meanwhile, Arnold was hiding behind a wall. He cautiously looked around him, before finally fixing his gaze at Helga G. Pataki, who was haphazardly shoving her things in her locker while muttering obscenities under her breath. She slammed her locker door shut, hard enough to make the neighboring lockers rattle a bit. Crossing her arms, she glared at nothing in particular.

Arnold leaned forward. _Here it goes..._

"Arnold. What a sap! What a pea-brained goody-two-shoes, always acting like he's some sort of butt-saving messiah, going around butting into people's lives. How I hate him."

The words stung a little; it always did, but Arnold knew that she didn't really mean it. What she _did_ mean was...

The blonde closed her eyes. "And yet..." Suddenly, they shot open again, and they darted around the halls nervously. Arnold ducked behind a garbage can just in time.

A loud, lovesick sigh escaped her lips, and she reached into her jeans pocket, pulling out a golden locket with the likeness of her beloved smiling hazily at her. "...how I love him! His genuine kindness, making my heart sing the sweetest of songs! That half-lidded gaze, reflecting the depths of the jungle, along with his honest mind, uncorrupted by the selfishness of this cruel, cruel world! Oh, _Arnold..."_

The teenage boy himself had to stifle a sigh behind his sweater sleeve.

Helga continued, blissfully aware of his presence. "If only I could tell you, my love. If only I could let the dam burst and overwhelm you with all my adoration for you! Alas, almost two decades has passed, and still I cannot..." She looked at her locket so mournfully that Arnold was fighting off every impulse to hug her.

A loud wheezing sound brushed uncomfortably close to Helga's ear. She squared her shoulders and delivered a punch on Brainy's nose, never breaking eye contact with her locket. Arnold winced sympathetically on Brainy's behalf, though he couldn't help but admire Helga's strength...

The bell rang, completely pulling her out of her reverie. She planted a kiss on beloved's picture, slipped it back in her pocket, and resumed her scowling. She pushed past a trio of glassy-eyed freshmen, snarling, "Out of my way, if you know what's good for you, punks!"

Arnold waited for her to reach him, before stepping out of the shadows. "Hey, Helga."

"Argghh!" She looked at him with wide eyes. "Arnold! Uh...ahh...leave me alone Football Head!" She gave him a rather weak shove, before trudging towards her classroom.

The football-headed teen smiled, a mixture of amusement and love.

Yeah. _Love._

He, Arnold Shortman, was in love with the fist-waving, pink bow-wearing, one-eyebrowed tormentor of a girl, Helga Geraldine Pataki.

Yeah, that's right. He was one of the few people on this planet Earth who actually knew her middle name.

Not that she ever told him or anything. But still, it made him feel special. _How _he found out doesn't really matter, anyway.

He finally found out about his muddled-up feelings during the summer of fifth grade and, after accidentally witnessing one of her melodramatic soliloquies, crashing into Brainy and ending up in the Dumpster, and obsessing over the issue for months, he finally decided that he actually _loved her._

He didn't just like her, or even _like her _like her. He passionately, head-over-heels, without a doubt, crazy in love with her._  
_

And it only took seven years of bullying on her side and complete and total denseness on his to realize that!

But before he could tell her, his family received a letter from Arnold's parents from San Lorenzo, and the minute the letter reached Grandpa's hands, he jumped as high as his rickety-old bones could carry him and began to pack everything, with Grandma joyously bursting into country songs every five minutes. They went to San Lorenzo a few hours after they got the letter, managing to get three economy class tickets by threatening, bribing, and pleading calls at three in the morning.

Arnold was ecstatic of course, and the minute he met his parents for the first time since he was still in diapers, he decided to stay with them.

It had been a good six years of helping and making friends with the natives, travelling different parts of the world to find various antidotes and herbs, and getting acquainted with Miles and Stella, who were seriously freaking awesome parents. Of course, he wrote to all his friends explaining his hasty departure, and every single one of them, especially Gerald, replied (some even sending little gifts). All except one.

Man, that hurt so bad.

Then again, he didn't really say much to her in his letter, either. It was basically _Hi Helga San Lorenzo is awesome and I really miss you and the gang I hope you're doing well 'kay thanks see ya someday._

He wanted so badly to tell her, but he thought it would be better to tell her in person. He smiled wistfully, remembering the first time he saw her in six years. It was in a drug store._  
_

Thankfully, she didn't see him, or else it would have been REALLY awkward, since at the moment, he was shopping for his grandparents, whose shopping list consisted of nasty stuff like 'hemorrhoid cream,' 'anti-rash powder,' and 'adult diapers.'

She was standing there, laughing openly with Phoebe Heyerdahl and Lila Sawyer, much to his surprise. She was clearly making sarcastic jabs about the people around them, since they were receiving a lot of dirty looks. She was still essentially the same: silky blond hair in pigtails, a single dash of hair above her mischievous blue eyes, and guffawing laugh which he seriously found adorable.

And that was when he found out that yep, he still got it bad for her.

There was nothing left to do but snag five bottles of 'bowel movement energy drink' and get the heck out of there.

And then one day, he hid inside Mrs. Vitello's flower cart, joined two minutes later by Brainy, who was surprised enough to get into a wheezing frenzy. Thankfully, he managed to get it under control the minute Helga appeared. She both lamented and celebrated Arnold's return, finally ending her passionate love fest (which, in all honesty, made him blush a little) by declaring that she was still in love with him.

And then Brainy popped out of the cart and started breathing over her neck.

Yup, he'll never forget that day, how his heart soared when Helga declared her undying love for him, how her beautiful blue eyes shone with happiness, how she spoke tenderly to her locket, which, if he closed his eyes, could imagine that she was saying those wonderful things to him, how she skipped merrily back home...

...oh, yeah, and how Mrs. Vitello chased them out of there with a shovel, how he practically had to carry an unconscious Brainy bridal style into a dark and nearly abandoned alley to get away from the enraged florist, how he tripped over a bottle and twisted his ankle, laying on the sidewalk in complete agony while waiting for Brainy to gain consciousness (which took about two hours) to help _him _up this time, only for the bespectacled teen to trip over the same bottle and how the two of them had to wait for the fire department to get there since nobody could hear their cries (or in Brainy's case, wheezes) of pain in that dark alley...

It was all worth it for _his _Helga.

Arnold sighed and walked over to Brainy, who was still passed out near a locker that happens to be Wolfgang's, and dragged him to the nurses' office, already hatching a plan.

* * *

"SAY WHAT?"

Arnold held the phone a foot away from his ear, wincing. When Gerald didn't say anything else, he calmly restated, "Yes, Gerald. I'm in love with Helga."

"Helga? _Helga?! _As in, Helga _G._ Pataki?!"_  
_

The blond boy sighed. "Yup."

"Are you sure," Gerald rasped, "that it's the same HELGA we're talking about here? Unibrow, blond hair in pigtails, freakishly tall—"

"Yeah, that's Helga, all right," Arnold replied dully. He tapped his fingers on his desk. "So, can you help me with it?" _It _being Arnold's master plan to win Helga's heart—not that he didn't completely have it already, but in order for them to become an official couple.

They were both quiet for a minute. Arnold could hear Gerald breathing in such a way that might give Brainy a run for his money. "Man," Gerald mumbled, "I think the heat from the jungle scrambled your brain." Pause. "Fine. How do I help?"

"Thanks, Gerald!" Arnold cried, brightening immediately. "I guess...um..."

"There's a dance coming up," Gerald said flatly. "Saturday. Eight PM until ten."

"Next Saturday?" Arnold repeated, realizing that it was already Thursday. Oh, no! I've gotta prepare. Thanks, Gerald, you're a pal!"

"Uh...you, too, buddy," Gerald said to the dial tone. He shook his head and placed the receiver down. "Mmm-hmm-mmm. Boy's gone off the deep end. Maybe living with wild animals actually made him _like _them." He chuckled weakly, and collapsed on his bed.

Staring at the ceiling, he exclaimed incredulously, "But seriously, though...Helga G. Pataki?"

* * *

**This is the unedited version of chapter one! Next chapter will feature Rhonda, Lila, Harold, Curly, and all your favorite characters. Please review!**


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey...so, it's been two years and...man, this is awkward. But if anyone is actually _still _reading this, I hope you enjoy. **

**Oh, and hey, did you guys hear about the new Hey Arnold movie? About time!**

**DISCLAIMER: I DON'T OWN HEY ARNOLD.**

* * *

It was the night of the dance.

Arnold and Gerald had spent hours in the department store trying out clothes and were all decked-out in collared shirts and sports jackets. Although the two looked snazzy (or at least, attempted to), they felt far from it. Their shirts itched, and the jackets suffocated them in the sweat-scented warmth of the gym. Arnold had planned to wear slacks, only to discover that Abner had used the butt of the pants as a doormat. All his pants were in the laundry, so he ended up wearing cargo shorts, which looked _wonderful_ with his fancy coat. Not.

Gerald spent most of the night stumbling over his feet in the fancy dress shoes he was wearing belonged to Jamie-O. Calling it a 'bit' too big was an understatement. Apparently the Johanssens had clown blood or something in their veins, because he could have sworn that he can fit his whole arm in there.

"Some decorations." Gerald scornfully eyed the basketball wrapped in gold foil superglued to the ceiling. It was supposed to be the moon. Chairs piled into the corner with a gray sheet over it served as a poor facsimile of the Eiffel Tower.

"It's even worse than when they recreated Atlantis," Arnold chuckled. "The gym was so flooded, I heard Coach Green was actually petitioning for swimming as a PE."

"Well, in any case, we lookin' good, my man," Gerald said, gesturing at themselves. He reached over to give Arnold a high-five, tripped, and promptly landed on his face.

"Gerald!" Arnold rushed over to help him up. "You okay?"

A loud cackle drowned out Gerald's answer and nearly made Arnold's heart shoot out like a geyser. "Real smooth, Tall-Hair Boy," Helga Pataki sneered. "What's the floor taste like?"

"Cut it out, Helga," a soft voice said, and Gerald's face flamed when he realized that Phoebe had witnessed his circus act. "Good evening, Gerald," she said with a small grin.

"Uh, h-hey, Phoebe," the ultra-smooth lady's man stuttered.

"I hope you can dance better than you could walk," Phoebe said with an uncharacteristic wink. Arnold raised an eyebrow and Gerald choked.

"Heh…uh, yeah, Phoebs! Of course! You know what they say about people with big feet—" He broke off, realizing what his sentence implied. "Oh, wait, not that! I mean—"

"That they're really good dancers?" finished Phoebe innocently.

Gerald relaxed and smiled back at her. "Something like that."

"Yeah, yeah," Helga grumbled. Her icy blue eyes flickered to Arnold for a second, before quickly flitting away. "Can you morons _not_ block the door? Oh, and nice shorts, by the way, Football Head."

Arnold shook himself, forcing his eyes away from Helga's dress and the way it clung to her lithe body. "Thank you, Helga. You look really…" _Lovely? Ravishing? Exquisite? _"…cool," Arnold finished lamely.

"Wish I could say the same for you," Helga shot back, not meeting his gaze. "Come _on, _Phoebe."

* * *

After that moment, Helga was a basket case. Well, she was _always_ a basket case, but even more so tonight. She nearly knocked the bathroom door down, her flaming eyes shooting murderous looks at the girls in the bathroom.

They all wordlessly ran out, one girl trailing toilet paper under her dress. They knew all too well what could happen if they stayed in the path of an angry blonde lethally dressed in pink.

Helga shut the door and locked it after them. She leaned on the door with a sigh, putting her entire weight—and the weight of all her stupid, nasty feelings that _really _should have faded decades ago—against the door and staring at the ceiling.

Every time she'd see Arnold, weird things would happen to her. Back then, seeing him had just felt like a bunch of butterflies were dancing in her stomach. Now, it seemed like those butterflies that she had buried long ago, ever since the big lug had left her, were rising from the butterfly cemetery in her system and forcing themselves out of her body, to her darling Arnold—

And so she let the butterflies out, in the form of a string of curses. "ARGHHHHH!" Outside, a bunch of students scrambled, running away in terror from the monstrous sounds coming from the girls' bathroom.

She had remembered the agony of _him_ being gone. How her world, which consisted of Arnold, had turned into a wasteland, a wasteland big enough to accommodate moronic people and, worst of all, her awful family. Without the stupid broom-haired weirdo, she had nothing left, and was forced to deal with reality. She should have wanted to kill him. Which she did. Except, he still made her girlhood tremble.

She remembered that line from one of her poems. It was embarrassing, to say the least. Chuckling, she shook her head. She slid down the door and sat on the mildewed floor. "What the fuck did I write?" she said aloud, laughing at her pathetic nine-year-old self. Then, remembering that her pathetic nine-year-old self wasn't all that different from her pathetic sixteen-year-old self, her smile diminished.

She yanked the locket from her purse. "He's…incandescent," she sighed. She cradled her locket tenderly between her hands, locking eyes with the smiling blond boy in the picture. The boy with cornflower hair…

"I STILL LOVE YOU, YOU NUMBSKULL!" she screamed, emptying herself in the bathroom. (Which _was _the purpose of a bathroom, anyway, although Helga wasn't really emptying herself the same way those girls in there earlier had been.) "Why, oh, why can't I stop feeling like this?" Helga screamed again, "YOU PATHETIC DOOFUS! YOU FUCKING NIMROD!"

"WHY ARE YOU SO HANDSOME, GODDAMMIT?" she yelled. "MAN! EVEN IF YOU LOOKED LIKE A HOBO I'D STILL FIND YOU HANDSOME! EVEN IF YOU LOOKED LIKE BRAINY! OR EUGENE! EVEN IF YOU LOOKED LIKE BRAINY AND EUGENE'S LOVE CHILD!"

She paused, gasping for breath. "Why are you so perfect?" she moaned.

* * *

Arnold had been peacefully taking a leak when someone screamed.

All the boys' heads had shot up, and they had exchanged questioning looks before they remembered that they were peeing and it was the second unspoken guy rule to not hold eye contact while peeing. (First guy rule of peeing: do not talk about peeing.) Everyone went back to their business real quickly.

A familiar voice poured out of the vents. When Arnold realized that it was the voice of his (sort of) beloved, he missed the target and almost sent a stream of pee ricocheting to the guy next to him.

The guy yelped and shot him a withering look. Arnold quickly apologized. He zipped himself up and headed to the sinks, which happened to be under the vents. He listened inquisitively as he washed his hands.

When she was done, all he could do was to stand, shell-shocked, before the sink, his frozen hands dripping soap on the floor.

Whoa. That was intense, even for Helga.

He felt like he just saw (or rather, heard) her soul. She had bared himself to him (and probably to the entire student body, albeit unknowingly), and he had heard her frustrations, the desire, the anger at herself, the anger at him…

It was so personal, that he felt like he had to share something back. So he said the first thing that popped into his head.

"I LIKE TAPIOCA PUDDING!" he shouted back to the vents, trying to convey to Helga that he trusted her enough with that completely vital information. Yeah…that was about as personal as he could get, which was probably a good thing, considering all the weird looks he was receiving at the moment.

Needless to say, the rest of his time in the bathroom was pretty damn awkward.

* * *

Helga was a scarecrow next to the tapioca pudding. Well, more like a scare_punk, _really. She'd glare at anybody who tried to reach for the last pudding on the tray until the hand would wither away from the container like a weed burning under the penetrating rays of sun that were her eyeballs, and run away as fast as they could, grumbling about the "crazy pudding lady."

Arnold and Gerald hung back, watching as Helga casually flicked Curly's wrist and practically judo-flipped him to the shiny gym floor. "Man!" Gerald muttered, shaking his head. "What the hell do you see in that chick?"

"I know what he _wants _to sees in her," Sid called out lecherously as he passed them by. He snickered as Gerald's plastic cup sailed over his head.

Arnold glared at Gerald. "How does _Sid _know?"

"Dude," Gerald said, putting an arm over his best friend's shoulder, "apparently _everyone _knows. I guess I was just, you know, so blinded by our friendship that I didn't suspect you of brain damage."

"Huh." He began to panic. What if _Helga _knew? Well, damn, of course she knew, why else would she be guarding the tapioca pudding like this if she didn't? But if she _did _know, that why wouldn't she just talk? He stared at the unsmiling red lips, nearly as straight as the unibrow above her eyes. He began to relax. Maybe she just _really _liked tapioca pudding. He could definitely relate. Man, they had so much in common...

"But seriously, Arnold. I'm not even trying to be rude here or anything, but what the hell do you see in her?"

In the distance, Helga was wrestling with Harold over the pudding. He admired her keen strength. "Tapioca pudding," Arnold replied dreamily.

"Mm-hmm. Lucky her. Don't think you'd see that _in_ anyone else tonight, the way she's guarding that tray."

Helga emerged as victor, stepping over Harold's knocked out body triumphantly. The encounter had messed up her hair and dress. She looked unrestrained, wild. And so damn beautiful. "Hey, Gerald," he said suddenly, "don't you think she looks nice in that dress?"

"Ugh! Sick, man!" After gagging, he did the unthinkable: he checked Helga G. Pataki out. He shuddered and rested his eyes on more pleasant sights. "Not as nice as Phoebe," Gerald declared, admiring the dark-haired girl keeping Helga company. "Plus, standing next to Helga G. Pataki makes her look even more beautiful. You know, by comparison."

Arnold glared at his tall-haired buddy. "Come on, Gerald, she isn't that bad! And anyway, if you want to talk to Phoebe so badly, why don't you just go over to her?"

Gerald was suddenly very interested in his freakishly large shoes. "Um…" He cleared his throat. "I don't know, I guess I just—"

"Well, _I'm _going over to them," Arnold declared, sounding braver than he felt. "I want some punch, anyway." Tugging at his itchy collar, he marched over to the girls without another word.

Gerald shook his head, amused. "You're a bold kid, Arnold," he said out loud. Taking baby steps, he followed his friend to the food table.

* * *

**Just checking to see if anyone got the Fight Club reference. Anyway, as always, thank you for reading and please review! :D**


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